Living in the era that is obsessed with exhausting every cliche benchmark of the past in every possible iterative way fabricating them in some commercial industrial process and destroying their uniqueness by mass producing them via machines. Social miscreant fact mambo avalanche the paste-like filler for all attempts at dialogues over two-pass smart phone text lengths. An undying conviction that the world outside their living space was conspiring to terminate their Internet accounts. Standard English speech reduced to a drivel of acronyms specific to the micro-cult that offers them as part of the ever-replaceable skinny fiction of yet once more ‘NEW‘ and ‘IMPROVED‘!
She eyed his girth with a disdainful cool reserve evident in her subsequent tones. The fact of his so suddenly accosting her now silently taken aback gnawing away her alabaster painted chipboard exterior. The thin implacable smile that dared reveal itself upon his fatty features tossed back at her in return. “Madame . . . !“, he replied as he conspicuously yes the proclivity of flaccid flesh hanging down over the pith of her elbows, “It appears that we both are overripe fruit busily going rotten in the basket!” “OK!“, he said, “Keep these number to yourself.” He was going head over heels and he knew it. He couldn’t stop the spin. It was inevitable. Like a stock market going bad, he was about to tumble. He could feel himself losing everything. he was losing her and he knew it. He would never get her back. Now it was just a matter of an untimely inevitability.
The delicacy of human meet especially the little bits and pieces of tiny things! The place they were to go to being enclosed by a wire fence and was serving breakfast now. A place at the end of the block. A Greek restaurant. All neatly cordoned off! The only place they had provided to sit outside was more like a bus stop than a table. One had to crawl through and sidled along the curb to get through to it or a bus without getting run down by passing traffic. The guy that owned the restaurant coming out from behind the fence cooing to the man to stay. Convincing him to get a plate of food and so forth as he seemed scheduled and by right of misguided passions supposed to. But things at this point in history were not running so well for him. So he had to go back into the madhouse to tackled a midget and in the process of spilling his coffee, barking out angrily, “If you weren’t so much a runt I’d trim your clock!” The waitress cheerily refilling they cup. Stumbling back out to find the plate he had left with some foreign delicacy of tiny little jellied human beings about as big as one’s thumb resting upon it. Something he blindly ordered under the title of house specialty that he had ignorantly accepted like a fool. Bits and pieces looking like gnomes and others whatever’s. Looking at the abomination he couldn’t eat them and turned away in disgust. The thought of biting into one of them with their slimy little organs being unimaginable to his palate. He wondered if he might have been somehow transported to China for the fact of these things being there. “How could anybody eat this kind of stuff?“, getting up and walking away being far past done.
Long since disenchanted, it was a wonder to him that anyone struggles to build, to compose, or any productive creative experience considering that over a short period of time it will be neglected, ignored, taken apart and then quickly forgotten. Those projects of a more monumental effort still wearing away slowly dissolving in the monotony of endless millennia. All the efforts of any combination of creative life forces destined to be eventually overturned. This being the inflexible nature of the universe. All the acts of man merely the ebb and flow of elusive waves of water both here, and yet not there. The inner emptiness of these manifestations of substance not palpable as insoluble mystery beyond the momentary impression. A large canvas ever changing paint, a little different each time. Everything changes! Identity changes. Who we know changes. The ‘WE’ of we changes. You can know anything and everything but yet can never see it standing still. Yet the primary mission of our society IS to make things stand still! “That simplest definition of civilization.”, he mused.
Theatrical production being run by professionals yet staffed by amateurs revealing may things that were unorthodox about this production. The when and how of the way it was portrayed centered around a stadium style scaffold with not only the audience but the players themselves upon this same device. The back end covered round in black velvet. The play being shown in the dead of night. The individuals forming the audience had to unwrap and outer curtain and walk precariously up this grandstand’s steps to reach those benches designated for the audience alone. So all might be able to look down on the staged play itself. A reverse set of bleachers over across on the other side allowing viewing the other way. Every action of the actors always viewed from an oblique angle. The drama’s characters played by struggling amateurs richly dressed in flowery costumes of Shakespearean mettle. No one involved was sure that the play would come off. The man’s own participation being doubtful. Even though he had sneaked onto the stage both before and after the performance to address the impresario about minor issues that were important to him only. This critic not getting much respect from surrounding players in earshot, though he had much to say about their performance. In the end he being demoted to speaking to a woman who had many eclectic views about her own presence and power as a nobody. One of those world’s greatest actors types trysting with an acolyte. Taken up residence in a long building that needed to be entered on the second floor via a walk through. Perhaps a school? It was hard enough to recall the beginning not to mention the end. A sort of bitchy way, this lesson from actor to actress. Something soon that was purported to be legendary. But an unintended side benefit being in some way finding out a minor truth. That actors serve as a conduit but not as teachers.
The longest road trip in the man’s memory driving the family car brought to the fore. A U-Haul trailer swinging to and fro from the back bumper at sixty. The box heavy and fully packed. Stuffed to the gunwales with the man’s shit by a doting more youthful father. A worn reused box persisting past the boundaries of the man’s faulty memory now violently stirred almost forty years past. His college graduation! The old corrugated container shaking that random memory out of him. How technology of any given era was bound to be a fad. But the box enclosing the same would be eternal. An unscheduled rest stop and the sort of cheap masking tape that in those former times became so quickly unraveled. But as a harbinger of all things past becomes dreadfully reliable as cement. Thia rest stop ramshackle’d as an ancient untouched outpost of the few remaining giant porcelain urinals in existence. What was the point of it all? Who could say. Connecting with those things long dead and past? Places caught in time like a spider in a sealed jar now all curled up but not yet gone.
Why all this suffering and pain? Was he just another part of a herd of cattle bred earmarked for the production of sorrow? Our masters being esoteric and un-seeable creatures who live off of angst and strong emotions? What did being lost ever mean? Perpetual existence in a solitary sense of the same? Or was he some strange universal singular entity that had forgotten himself within endless dreams unawares of making the world into his own image? Or perhaps worse yet as some lowly particle? Meaningless without any type of worth or purpose. Does one soar or disappear as if they had never been? All those million things left behind. Ones accumulated life treasures a chrysalis that this elusive inner essence has to eventually extricate itself from within. An inescapable lesson plan that one is sent to prison to learn? Would he simply die when he lost all his happiness? Or simply grow beyond it! Questions, questions, all questions. While the body deteriorates as if by some preconceived plan that no one would dare tell you about. Or that in the flower of youth you might listen to.
Confronted by the practice of all things considered good versus the continued demonstration all about that are of evil. Challenged for making light of his own actions against himself. Walking through the different environments of the mind emulating this world. There was a difference between the two. And he knew that he had done wrong. He regretted those sins. It did make a difference! A special word. That specific word he could not recall. Something so mundane! Yet so potent and powerful that he could not, or would not, remember it. His heart was very heavy as if set beneath a massive stone preventing him from finding the way to his own truth. Once again running out of time as he was becoming ill. Violence portrayed against a violent spirit. Supposedly always under the guise of science. But what science could there be in this self-abuse? What joy could there be releasing his own demons then giving them sway over him? That elusive word that would act as a key to unlock the indefinable aspect of the daemon that he was unable to enunciate. Could there be anything more than being ‘good’ in the sense of remaining honest and truthful?
With him, everything was always death. His dog died in his dreams once again the night before. His dead mother disappeared after walking away for just a moment saying that she would be right back. His vehicle parked legally beside a viaduct. Essentially street legal? But ever in hesitation as he was not completely sure. He then contemplating walking down the short path from his car. Down a sidewalk lane to the outside tables sitting before a bar just a few steps up on the next street. A cheery sounding locale in the midst of doing good business full of happy customers. Maybe he might meet someone interesting to talk with to slake his thirst for casual companionship? The black Labrador retriever now out of the vehicle running back and forth across the empty lot just ahead of him. All of a sudden he sensing a shudder then looking over to find the creature tumbling down to a dead stop from its full gallop. The man running over to his pet’s side only to fall upon his knees with a fatal foreboding. Comforting the stricken animal with a final embrace as it suddenly dies. Regretfully looking back around over his shoulder towards the distant Cantina where people still sat smiling frivolously enjoy the complacency of a bright blue Summer’s day in ignorance of him. And he feeling guilty. Damning that impulse for wanting so much to follow the former wish to go join them. But now fatally locked into that ever present remorseless forever of being cast a solitary soul. No hope for release from his ongoing fate in life. Not even in his dreams.